


Good Death Rescinded

by wrothmothking



Category: Naruto
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Suicide, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrothmothking/pseuds/wrothmothking
Summary: Kisame dies, only to wake up ten years in the past.// Suicide is Kisame's canon death, which is immediately undone a la time travel. The child abuse tag refers to the village's canonical treatment of Naruto.
Relationships: Hoshigaki Kisame & Uzumaki Naruto, past Hoshigaki Kisame & Uchiha Itachi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 166
Collections: Exchange no Jutsu 2020





	Good Death Rescinded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_rck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rck/gifts).



> hey the_rck! your requests were pretty open-ended so please let me know if this fic isn't to your taste.

The sharks dig into his flesh, as ordered. Yet as the pain assails his senses, Kisame feels no horror, or despair, or regret. In his final act, Kisame finds peace. Atonement for sins committed in Kiri. Relief.

Yes. This is right. A sacrifice in service of Akatsuki.

“ _Itachi...It seems I wasn't such a worthless human, after all._ ”

Perhaps he will see him again.

He closes his eyes...

And opens them to a familiar scene. An impossible scene, for he is suddenly a thousand miles away from his place of death, all limbs accounted for, in the company of walking corpses. Some kind of afterlife?

But no. Kakuzu and Konan are having a hushed argument over his killing another partner, Sasori observing with faint amusement as he mixes his poisons. None of them react to his arrival, meaning, to them, he has been here for a while. His next guess is a memory, part of some torturous reliving of his life as his brain shuts down.

But no. As he stands frozen, things don't play out as his vague recollection demands they should. No force overtakes Kisame and forces him to act out what he'd done, and the evening _diverges_ as a result.

Kisame doesn't complain about inappropriate uses of the kitchen table _where they eat_ , nevermind that he himself hardly has to worry, so Konan never forbids it, and Kakuzu never takes her distraction as opportunity to leave, the grit of his jaw stopping even their second-in-command from ordering his return―this was one of their nicer hideouts, abandoned when Orochimaru left. Which means this is before that. Before Itachi joined...

Instead, the scent of something burning fills the air, and Kakuzu breaks the table.

“Ah,” Kisame says. “I forgot the clam chowder.”

“You've been mentally absent the last seven minutes. Feeling under the weather?” Sasori questions, the faux concern nauseating.

“If you noticed, you should have intervened,” Kakuzu grumbles, rising to see what of dinner can be salvaged. “I'm deducting the cost from your allowances.”

Sasori blinks. “I don't eat.”

“I don't care.”

Kisame rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Sorry about that, Kakuzu, Sasori. I think I am feeling strange.” To put it lightly. “I should go lay down.”

Kakuzu hums. “Take some medicine. Every day you're out of commission is a day you're not earning.”

If he recovers too slow, Kakuzu will intervene, unwilling to suffer parasites. Should he survive long enough, Kisame will be cleared for bounty hunting. Alone, so as to not risk another member. It's a routine he's witnessed before, one of a dozen reasons he'd helped Itachi hide his illness.

_Itachi._

Itachi is alive, and not here. A reality confirmed when he enters his rooms to find no sign of his partner: there's a single bed, no mirror, no sacred cat plushie he'd stolen from his brother that fateful night, a night that now, today, has yet to come.

“ _I didn't want to kill them; I had to. My father was planning a coup. The village would have killed us_ all.”

“ _I'm dying, Kisame. What I did, what I'm doing...It's killing me. I know it's what I deserve, but I want..._ ”

Oh.

A choice sits before him, one he can hardly bear to consider.

Itachi was beyond useful to the Akatsuki, his clan's genocide well-desired by their true leader. Arguably, Madara'd manufactured it. In a better world, the one Akatsuki is working to create, it wouldn't've worked.

Weeks'll pass before anyone misses him; they rarely grouped up, being suspicious and bloodthirsty just as shinobi culture has ingrained into them since they could walk. Traits exacerbated by their rogue status. Kisame wandering off is less out of character than him falling sick; until Itachi, he'd kept to himself.

Ha. 'Until Itachi', he was a lot of things. Odd what a little companionship can do to you.

Itachi'd died by Sasuke's hand, as he'd desired. Kisame remembers the grief that slammed into him at Zetsu's confirmation, the regret for not only allowing it to happen, but guarding the perimeter of Itachi's chosen battleground.

Be this hallucination or a real second chance, Kisame may as well see what he can make of it. After all, he's already died.

“Fuck,” he exhales, shaky. Taking off his cloak, he folds it, places it delicately on the mattress. Maybe he'll come back.

And maybe Madara will kill him. He knows more than Orochimaru ever did, and it's likely he'll realize exactly what Kisame plans to intervene in. Kisame won't take it personally.

Grabbing a duffle bag from the closet, Kisame packs the handful changes of clothes he has and the equipment he needs to keep Samehada healthy. It's a lot for him to possess, comparatively.

Samehada shudders in greeting as Kisame hoists the sword on his back, purring as Kisame pats his side.

No one accosts him on his way out. The sun is setting, frigid air raising goosebumps on his skin. Already, he misses his cloak.

Outside, he's able to recall this safe house's location: fifty miles northeast of Iwa. If he fuses with Samehada, a nearby river will take him to the southern edge of Rain Country, and from there to Konoha it'll be a mere two days' run—if he doesn't sleep. He can nap in the cave they'd used during their first move on the Kyuubi, summon fog the following morning to cover his entrance.

Konoha's massive size means hiding in plain sight is perfectly doable for most, even as obvious shinobi, but the same qualities that first labeled him a monster in Kiri will mark him as a foreignor in Konoha. He'll need to cover his skin, wear a mask. A pit stop in a village along the Rain-Fire border, then.

* * *

Itachi had been his first partner, but Kisame was his second—third, if Orochimaru's brief stint counted. While still young at their time of meeting, he'd had time to grow, for his physical stature to match the menace of his stare.

The Itachi he's watching now could not be mistaken for anything else but a child, clinging to his younger brother, not an inch taller than Kisame's hip. It's...

Kisame can't decide. Horrifying? Sweet? Absolutely heart-wrenching? It's a shame he has one of those, so inconvenient.

Unfortunately for his prey, an occasional emotion won't stay his hand.

But he has no chance to deliberate how best to take out Fugaku—they've two years before the genocide, but if he mishandles this that timeline can shorten a great deal. Eleven-year-old Itachi is whispering in his mother's ear, casting nervous glances in his father's direction-

And Kisame trips.

Someone snickers.

Turning, he identifies the Kyuubi jinchuriki, minus one obnoxious orange jumpsuit. Evidently, the one who'd painted an illusion atop a road in desperate need of repairs.

The boy beams up at him, far too happy to've been caught making mischief. Is he not aware of the danger Kisame could pose if he wanted to? People in masks tended to react with hostility when approached, and Kisame remembers how it was Uzumaki that revealed his presence to that green beast.

“Can I help you?” he sneers.

“Who are you? I haven't seen you around before!”

It's unlikely he's met _most_ Konoha shinobi. Kisame hesitates in shooing him off, though, noticing the passers-by—once looking carefully passed him, or eyeing his movements with vague, resigned alarm—are sending daggers at this boy, pointedly keeping as much distance away as they're capable.

He frowns. Uzumaki is what, six? Seven? Maybe five; his height is comparable with Sasuke's, but he's so damn scrawny...

Kisame knows a thing or two, about being the perfect manifestation of a person's greatest fears, of every bad thing to have happened to them.

It's a worthless sentiment. He has work to do-

Uzumaki pouts. “You can't just _ignore me_. I'm talking to you...”

The words imply defiance. The tone implies defeat.

Two years, two targets, and the Akatsuki will be coming for him _anyway_ , so. What's the harm in indulging the kid?

“Ah, sorry! I'm feeling a bit out of it. Just got back from a long trip.”

The jinchuriki blinks. “Oh, um...That's okay! Are you a ninja?”

“What gave me away?”

He smirks as Uzumaki giggles, grateful to the mask for hiding the show of fearsome teeth. Children never respond well to a joyful Kisame.

Mentally swiping the bitterness away, Kisame crouches in front of Uzumaki, offering his hand for the boy to shake.

“Kisame Hoshigaki,” he introduces.

“Naruto Uzumaki!”

He'd known Konoha was filled with hapless fools before hearing Itachi's story, but to be in grabbing or killing distance of their human weapon across the street from their police force, no ANBU lurking on the rooftops to keep watch over the kid...Well. A handful of kind words, he'd follow willingly. It's like they _want_ a rogue shinobi to steal away with him.

And it is tempting; a private revenge, for himself and his Itachi.

Alas, the opportunity's wasted on him. Had he been a better caregiver, such vengeance would be unnecessary, after all.

“Where did you go?”

“Iwa.”

“What's it like there?”

Kisame answers, only to be met with another question. And another, and another. It's a bit nice, having someone else to fill the silence with empty chatter for a change, the boy quickly careening wildly off-topic. He never loses track of Fugaku, but neither does he leave to follow him home as he'd planned. Maybe it's fate's way of agreeing with his initial instinct to go after Danzo first, whatever his feelings for Uchiha parenting are.

As dusk begins to set in, Kisame excuses, “It's getting late. I have so much work still to do before I can rest.”

“Aww,” Naruto complains, sulking.

Kisame pats his shoulder, ignoring how his eyes tear up with gratitude for the small contact. “See you around, kid.”

“Y-yeah!”

A nice moment. Kisame will recall it fondly as he dies, or regretfully as he shreds the jinchuriki's legs as he'd once threatened.

He makes his escape fast, in case security tightened around Naruto after dark.

“Doubtful,” he mutters.

Kisame cultivates this rage. He'll need it for Danzo and his guards.

* * *

Obliterating Danzo and those who came to his defense was the highlight of coming back to life. Though worthy of Itachi's fear, the man could not compare to the Yonbi or Hachibi jinchuriki. The true difficulty had been keeping the battle contained to the base, no one managing to flee for reinforcements, no jutsu that couldn't be contained within the building, so as to limit collateral damage.

Eliminating Fugaku, on the other hand, demands forethought. Whispers of revolt already fly through the compound; the head of clan's death cannot be traced back to the village they called home.

If he'd thought ahead, he would've grabbed a vial of Sasori's poison on his way out.

Instead, he has to change out of his disguise. Having assumed from the beginning Madara would Know, Kisame doesn't mourn the loss of secrecy overmuch.

Fugaku dies, the killing blow delivered publicly after Kisame allowed him to escape from his own house.

The courtyard erupts into chaos.

* * *

The sky splinters, water pouring down. Kisame takes shelter under a roof overhang.

The mask has returned to his face, his pursuers lost in the brewing storm and panic.

Kisame should return to the Akatsuki. He believes in them.

But there's something disquieting in the idea Itachi never had. The Itachi of this timeline won't be joining them, and it forces him to confront the truth of his loyalties. One day, they may even meet as enemies. Would Kisame be able to strike to kill as his survival'd demand? Dying unnecessarily is its own form of betrayal. Could he return knowing he is a liability, no longer committed to the cause? Would the others notice some change in him if he tried?

Again, he sees the Kyuubi jinchuriki. Their bond is a fledgling thing, sparks, but no fire. Using the tie to strangle the kid when the time comes would be an easy thing, if he would simply leave now. Go home.

The boy is crying. He stops walking, simply stands there as the rain washes over him.

“Y _ou'll catch your death out there, Itachi._ ”

He's saved Itachi, and damned himself in the process.

“Hey, Naruto!” he calls.

The jinchuriki perks up, gaze locking onto the mask, and in two blinks his misery evaporates. Kisame's a tad jealous.

Naruto runs to him, and so excited is he, he slams into Kisame's knees.

“Ow. Did you feel that at _all_?”

“Not really.” Kisame picks him up with one hand, gives him a little shake. “You may as well be an infant.”

“Well, I'm not!” Naruto shrieks, kicking his collarbone. Otherwise, he doesn't seem to mind being held like this.

“Then what were you crying for?”

Naruto dims, going limp in his hold. Angry tears gather in his eyes. “The grocer tried to upcharge me and when I argued he tossed me out. Now he won't let me in to get my money back and I'm out of food!”

“Typical. Want some help?”

“Why would you help me?” Naruto scows, suddenly wary. “I can't pay you or anything.”

“Do you have a floor I can sleep on?”

“Eh? I guess...”

“Then you can pay me.”

After he clears the overhang, he sets Naruto on his shoulders and asks for directions to the shop.

Freezing water pelts them as they go. Kisame shivers, but presses on, aware they both have inhuman constitutions.

Despite this reasoning, when they're passing a vendor selling umbrellas and Naruto's hands tighten in his hair, Kisame buys one shaped like a frog and passes it up.

“You're-you're giving this to me? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I bought it for you.”

“How'd you know this is the one I wanted?”

“You gasped when my hand hovered over it.”

“R-right.”

Kisame doesn't need to see the boy's face to know he's blushing. Gently, he adds, “It's for me, too. I didn't know Fire Country could get this cold.”

“You're not from here?”

“No. Kiri.”

“Hm. Isn't Kiri another ninja village?”

“I'm a rogue.”

“Oh. Well, that's okay, then! You can just stay with us.”

“I'm afraid I've already made some trouble here, and I'm planning to make more. Besides, Kiri would sooner kill itself on Konoha's walls than let Konoha take me in, and as much as I'd like to watch it happen, neither the Hokage nor his council would risk another war.”

“You think your village would lose?”

“Too much infighting. There's not many shinobi of age left, and the younger generation can't hope to replace the three we lost.”

“I'm sorry.”

Kisame shrugs. “I'm not.”

“I'm sorry they weren't better to you, then.”

“Right back at you, kid. This grocer the only one giving you trouble?”

“...No.”

They've arrived.

The door is locked, but Kisame simply keeps turning the knob, strong enough to break the mechanism and force the door open.

“Wow,” Naruto whispers.

“ _What_ did you just do to my door? Who do you think you are?”

“You hurt my friend, here. I suggest you apologize. _Carefully_.”

The man snarls a denial. Kisame grabs his throat with one hand, Samehada with the other, and as the man chokes the register erupts.

“You can't do this. I'll report you,” his captive croaks.

Kisame tosses him back into his shelves, toppling thee aisles and surely breaking a couple of the grocer's ribs. With him out of the way, Kisame stuffs fistfuls of cash into his pockets, then steps casually out onto the street.

“That was pretty cool,” Naruto begins, sounding like his opinion is the exact opposite. “But will he be alright?”

“He'll be fine. Some people have no survival instincts, so you have to teach them. You won't be bothered again by anyone on this road.”

“That's the problem, though. No one wants anything to do with me.”

“I do.”

“Yeah, but you're _scary_.”

“No sleepover, then?”

“No, no!” Naruto folds in on himself, dropping his head atop Kisame's. “I meant scary in a good way. Sometimes.”

Kisame chuckles.

“Did you mean it? When you called me your friend?”

A beat of silence passes as Kisame considers his answer. Konoha is hunting for him, blending into the crowd won't hide him long. Madara's maybe, probably angry with him. Konan will eventually wonder why he hasn't returned, assume him a traitor when she confirms he's alive.

But Naruto has no ties here.

Caring for Itachi, making all his meals, reminding him of his medication, carrying him when a sudden burst of exhaustion made walking far impossible, helping him in the bath when a bout of weakness made standing at all the same, covering for him with enemies and allies alike, it was hard. He'd never been tasked with keeping another person alive before—only the exact opposite. Does he want to go back to that?

Yes.

Kisame knows nothing of childcare, beyond a handful of things _not_ to do. What he remembers of his youth he won't inflict on another.

He will be better than the nothing Naruto has.

Kisame'd assumed Naruto lived alone, but it still rankled to be proven right.

The apartment's set in a neutral complex in a neutral neighborhood. Opening the door reveals a nightmare, Naruto's shame palpable and infuriating as Kisame takes note of the dirty clothes piles, spilled food, liberal dust, bugs, empty instant ramen cups, and sparse child's items. A kunai sticks out of the wall.

“I'm sorry. I never meant for it to get this bad.”

He shakes his head. “Kids aren't known for cleanliness.” That was something the adults in their lives had to instill the importance of.

Speaking of, they're being watched.

Kisame says nothing of it, setting Naruto on his feet and searching the kitchen for cleaning supplies. All goes well, neither of them would be staying here passed this upcoming morning, but it's never too early to start training. Well, this sort. Other sorts could easily cause permanent damage.

Naruto follows his orders, the sheepish expression refusing to leave his face. With two sets of hands hard at work, it's not long before the kitchen is in pristine condition—minus the floor. Kisame hoists Naruto onto the counter to avoid that problem, then surveys what he has available for cooking dinner. What he finds is ramen.

Naruto's gaze drops to the ground.

“Hey, it's cheap and loaded with calories. Good choice.”

The praise is honest. Sensing that, Naruto digs in with gusto, inhaling the cup and two more after with Kisame's prompting.

Their witness leaves. Minutes pass by with no interruption as they resume cleaning, focused this time in the bathroom, and Kisame frowns. How odd.

Unthinking, Kisame strips for the shower, wishing he'd brought his bag with him instead of stowing it halfway between the cave and the village. His eyes meet Naruto's in the mirror.

He's shocked, clearly. Awed, strangely.

“Wicked tattoo! Does it mean anything?”

Wait.

Kisame turns, looks over his shoulder. Seals and sigils spill out across his back in navy ink, yet another impossibility in a world Kisame feared he no longer understood.

This tattoo was given to him by Itachi. It should've been erased. Also, it used to be a pale blue matching his skin.

What had he done, and why?

Kisame died, and then he woke up ten years in the past, memory intact, no double to replace. Simple. Crazy, but simple. For Itachi to be the architect, however...

Why would he not ask Kisame to put this on _his_ back? He was the one actively dying. He was the one with a thousand regrets and no hope for the future.

But Itachi never imagined how things _could_ be. He just wanted them to end.

“A friend gave it to me. He's dead now.”

“Oh.”

“It was a good death.”

“How is any death 'good'?”

Kisame smiled. Naruto didn't flinch at the extra teeth, pressing into the contact as Kisame pets his hair.

“When it's for what you love, it's a good death.”


End file.
